Project Quintessence
by PageOfWands
Summary: On the heels of her first featured article in the Journal of Magizoology, Luna Lovegood is tapped by the Ministry to join the top secret Project Quintessence.  Her involvement will send her into grave danger and pair her with her most despised rival.
1. A Cause for Reunion

**Title: **Project Quintessence

**Author: **PageOfWands

**Summary: **On the heels of her first featured article in the Journal of Magizoology, Luna Lovegood is tapped by the Ministry to join the top-secret Project Quintessence. Her involvement will not only send her into grave danger, but also throw her together with Rolf Scamander, an arrogant Lothario who is her most despised rival. She agrees to set aside their differences to complete their mission, but circumstances beyond her control threaten to jeopardize both the project and the boundaries between her personal life and her professional one.

**Length:** Rough estimate as of September 14 is fifteen chapters.

**Author's Notes:** This is a total departure from my last major work, Living Amongst Ghosts. This story is set fifteen years post-DH, and no elements from LAG come into play. It is also quite different from a stylistic standpoint. That having been said, I hope those who enjoyed LAG will give this one a try. Reviews are sweet as chocolate, and just as welcome!

* * *

The huge horned owl swooped in at noon exactly, a hefty softbound volume clutched in its fearsome claws. I made a small noise somewhere between gasp and a moan, and the owl changed course in midair, managing to land softly on the table at my elbow. It proffered the journal regally, and I took it.

"Thank you," I whispered, and the delivery animal almost nodded as it took flight.

The cover was a muted scarlet, and in a serious, sans-serif typeface, it proclaimed, "JOURNAL OF MAGIZOOLOGY." Beneath that, smaller, I read "Fall 2013," and beneath that, "In this issue: Luna Lovegood," and my heart leapt. I flipped to the middle section, where a vivid color sketch (which I had done myself, up to and including the charm to make it breathe fire and writhe on the page) stared up at me fiercely. The opposing page held the title of my article: "Green Scales at Skye: A New Crossbreed of Dragon?"

I tried flipping through the journal, but I was too excited to take anything in. So I sat and sipped at a cup of tea. After fifteen years of scouring the British Isles for the discovery that would put me on the map as a magizoologist, I had finally made it. It would only be a short amount of time, I thought, before I could finally afford to go abroad. I loved England, but there were so many creatures to study! I wanted to see the Clabberts of America, the Teboes of Africa, and the exotic species of dragons that were scattered all over the world. This article was my ticket to every country on the map.

A letter arrived from my father only a few minutes after that thought went through my head. I petted his owl on her head before tearing open the envelope.

"Luna, my dearest,

"I couldn't be prouder of you, and I know your mother feels the same way, wherever she is. Your article is the epitome of Ravenclaw brilliance. Next time, I really believe you should explore the multitude of sightings of the Seven-Winged Starhopper. I enclose my notes on the subject.

"All my love,  
"Father."

I smiled. Father's ideas never led me to the creature he had mentioned, but oftentimes his conspiracies had a grain of truth in them; the heliopaths that he had famously accused Cornelius Fudge of commanding were not in fact spirits of fire, but merely a previously undiscovered species of winged horse. The helian, as it came to be known, was the vivid color of an orange sunset, and its mane, tail, and wings were a clear sun yellow. From what I'd read, it seemed that helians preferred blisteringly hot climates, and so generally only lived in equatorial deserts. Yet another creature I was dying to see in person.

The first ten or so pages of the journal had been blank, as all peer-reviewed journals of wizardry were when printed. They would fill themselves in with readers' letters when they were received at the British Society of Magizoology Headquarters in Derby. I flipped through the pages now. There was nothing in them --

-- nothing except a single letter, positioned carefully at the head of the letters section. The writer must have received a pre-publication copy of the journal; there was no other explanation for the speed of its appearance. The typeface was rather larger than I would have expected, and I caught my name immediately.

"DEAR SIRS,

"While I shall not dispute that Luna Lovegood is a dedicated and observant naturalist, her conclusions in this case are far too hasty. It is a well-known fact that dragons are fussy breeders, and that a single scale's misalignment will oftentimes render a female mateless. How, then, are we seriously to believe that Hebridean Blacks and Common welsh Greens, two species of dragon that could not be less alike in appearance or temperament, have interbred?

"Is it not more likely that Ms. Lovegood has observed a Hebridean Black in its adolescent phase, when its trademark black scales are mottled, as she has described? As for its 'musical call,' this is certainly a matter open to interpretation. I note that Ms. Lovegood did not enchant her illustration to replicate the roar she supposedly overheard; is this a deliberate omission on her part, so that she may be the only magizoologist whose opinion can be relied upon in this instance?

"I am not attempting to quibble with a woman whom I respect. I simply do not believe that the evidence for a crossbreed is sufficient for publication."

"Yours very truly,  
"ROLF SCAMANDER "Lifetime Member, International Fraternity of Magizoologists"

It took all the control I had not to fire off a Howler to the letter-writer straight away. The letter was devious in its multiple layers of insult. It implied that I was unfamiliar with the breeding patterns of dragons, not to mention their appearance before reaching maturity. It accused me of keeping some of my research to myself, when in reality, I simply had not magically recorded the dragons' cry and had not wanted to rely upon my own (possibly incorrect) recollection. And, of course, he had managed to remind everyone that I was the daughter of the publisher of The Quibbler, a magazine uniformly looked down upon by the magizoology community.

Rolf Scamander was, of course, the grandson of the most celebrated magizoologist in all of Great Britain, if not the entirety of Europe. Newton Scamander, author of the seminal work "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," had groomed Rolf for the naturalist trade since childhood, or so the legend went.

In a fit of pique, I went to my shelf of backdated Journals of Magizoology and found one from only three months prior, in which Rolf Scamander had had the featured article. I flipped to the "Contributors" section in the back and found his page-long biography. A black-and-white photograph of the man himself waved and preened from the upper-right corner.

"ROLF ANSELM NEWTON SCAMANDER

"Rolf Scamander, son of Milton Scamander, the former British Ministry of Magic ambassador to Germany, and grandson of Newton Scamander, the famed magizoologist, has been described as 'the finest magizoologist in the field today.' Mr. Scamander graduated from Hogwarts (Prefect, Slytherin House) in 1995 and immediately upon leaving school took a position in New Zealand with the Society for the Preservation of the Antipodean Opaleye. Graduating swiftly from his mentorship to the Associate Director position, he soon left to pursue other, more challenging opportunities: a year-long stint in the Acromantula Observation Post in Borneo, three years heading up the Demiguise Protection Office in Tibet, and two years in the Office for Graphorn Control in Switzerland. In the time between assignments and since then, he has traveled the world, making extensive observations on nearly every species of magical beast to be found on the globe.

"Mr. Scamander is notable for being the youngest-ever contributor to this Journal; his article 'Befriending the Porlock' was accepted for publication in the summer between his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, a summer he spent at his grandfather's house in Dorset, studying the Porlock that lived in his family's stable. He joined the International Fraternity of Magizoologists at the tender age of twenty-two, making him the fifth-youngest person ever admitted. He has been recognized by the Wizarding governments of Australia, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Malaysia, New Zealand, Switzerland, Tibet, and the United Kingdom for his steadfast work in the fields of protecting endangered creatures from magical poaching, and protecting humans from dangerous magical creatures.

"In his spare time, Mr. Scamander enjoys broom racing, and sings with the National Wizards' Choral Society. He is an enthusiastic and generous supporter of the Hogwarts Annual Fund, as well as Quidditch Town, a foundation that funds a Quidditch camp in Yorkshire for impoverished Wizarding children from London. He lives in that great city with his pet Krup, Scoot."

I glared at the photograph. He was, undeniably, one of the most attractive wizards I'd ever laid eyes upon . . . but he was attractive in that dangerous way, when you know the wizard in question is well aware of his effect on the opposite sex. I had no doubt he'd slept his way through half the female staff members at each of his far-flung outposts -- he was just that kind of man, I could tell.

And now, apparently not content with his fame, fortune, and pet Krup, he was maligning my research! I had spent six months living in a cave on the Isle of Skye observing dragons, and I was not about to allow him to shed doubt on my conclusions. I would have to write a rebuttal for the next issue, which the Journal would undoubtedly publish: in-fighting sold copies.

But I wouldn't be writing anything tonight -- Hermione had insisted upon a big dinner celebrating my first featured article, and it would serve as a de facto reunion of our little faction of Dumbledore's Army. I didn't get to see the Granger-Weasleys that often, nor the Potters, nor Neville, so it was a special treat for me.

I was a hopeless cook, so I brought a bottle of wine to Hermione and Ron's house in Devon. I Apparated to a spot a few houses down, in a little ramshackle shed that stood apparently abandoned on the corner -- a deliberately placed Apparition spot. Any closer to the house, and I would have Splinched. What with Hermione's job in the Wizengamot and Ron's career as an Auror, not to mention our actions in bringing down Voldemort, there was all too much chance that a rogue wizard or witch would attempt to attack their family. Hermione had been working hard since the day they'd bought the house to keep its location unknown to the larger public and protected by the most complex, esoteric enchantments. Since she was, after all, Hermione Granger-Weasley, she was by and large extremely successful at it.

I walked confidently in the direction of their abode, in spite of the nagging sensation I had that I was walking in quite the wrong direction. As soon as I set foot on the flagstones that led to their front door, a clamor of barking could be heard emanating from the general area of the first floor. Red eyes stared at me from underneath the front porch. When I reached the front door, the knocker Transfigured itself into a likeness of Godric Gryffindor, which glared at me silently.

"I swear by my wand, I mean no harm to any person under this roof." I took out my wand and touched it to the knocker. "Should I be lying, may my wrongdoing be turned upon me." I shivered slightly as the spell took hold; the oath I'd just taken was not just words, but a magical vow that would, if Hermione's magic held, come true.

Finally the door swung open, and a light ringing sound accompanied my entrance. There were, of course, no dogs inside the house; Hermione never would have allowed them, preferring as she did the company of cats and children. "Oh!" came Hermione's voice from the kitchen, and she rushed in a few moments later, calling behind her, "Ron! RON! Company!"

"Hello, Hermione," I said, smiling. "I like the new security measures. The Directional Confundus is particularly effective."

She laughed. "Would you believe it's even fooled me a few times? I come home from work at the end of a long day, I start walking towards my house, I start feeling like I'm wrong, and I turn around and head the other way! Once I even had to have Ron come and walk me home, I was so tired. Well, let's not stay in the foyer! There are refreshments in the den."

"Where are the kids?" Rose, who was about seven, and Hugo, about five, were nowhere in sight. Rose was in many ways her mother in miniature, but Hugo was a surprisingly shy, thoughtful little boy who was an absolute pleasure to look after.

"In bed." When she noticed my confusion, Hermione blushed. "I . . . dosed them. I'm not proud, mind you, but this is to be an adult dinner party, and I can't have the kids up and needing me or Ron. So I gave them a teensy bit of Sleeping Draught, and they'll be out till early tomorrow morning."

"Goodness me, that's one of those parenting tips the Ministry doesn't let on about," I said, sitting in an overstuffed armchair and taking a few crackers from a perfectly placed platter.

"There are a lot of things no one talks about till you actually have children," Hermione explained.

"Did you tell her about the Sleeping Potion?" interjected Ron, who had apparently finished in the kitchen. "That's nothing. Tell Luna about using Silencing Charms on them in the grocery store when they were little."

His wife flushed. "You try taking two preschoolers shopping!"

"No thank you, dear," Ron said, taking a seat by Hermione and slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Daddy doesn't do shopping trips. Daddy does daily routine instead." He turned to me. "That was the tradeoff -- I never have to take them shopping for clothes or food or anything, but I have to get them ready for school every morning and pick them up every afternoon from aftercare."

"Sounds fair," I offered. Sometimes I marveled at the fact that the two of them were actually parents. In many ways, they were still the kids they'd been at Hogwarts.

"As long as Hermione helps them with homework, it'll work for me," Ron agreed. "Honestly, the things they learn in Muggle school! Just the other day Rose came home chattering about sign-a-doors."

"DINOSAURS," Hermione corrected through clenched teeth. "And it wouldn't hurt you to learn a little something about non-magical history."

Ron grinned at me. "We've still got it, eh, Luna?"

I couldn't help but grin back. There had been a time, long, long ago, when I'd thought Ron Granger-Weasley (well, just Weasley, in those days) was rather fetching. Briefly, I'd entertained the notion of dating him myself. But it had taken me only a couple months to realize that he belonged to Hermione, utterly, and that nothing would ever change that.

"What about you?" he continued. "Seeing anyone?"

"No," I said shortly. My last relationship, with a Spanish wizard who had also been studying dragons, had ended rather spectacularly when he had proclaimed his undying affection for me. I had not reciprocated, so he began walking towards an enclosure that contianed an injured Hebridean Black. It took seven witches and wizards to restrain him from entering the pen.

Hermione, immune to the hint of my tone of voice, soldiered bravely onward. "There's a very handsome young attorney who just started doing prosecution for MLE. I think he was a Ravenclaw as well! Would you like his address? You could send him an owl."

"No, but thanks, Hermione. I think I need to be single for a while. I've always felt I'd know it if the right wizard came along, but I'm starting to think my standards are too high, or maybe that I'm holding all these men at arm's length, you know?"

Hermione, who had never dated anyone but her husband, nodded gravely. Mercifully, I was saved from further conversation on the subject by the selfsame ringing noise that had accompanied my entrance.

"That'll be Harry and Ginny," Ron said, extricating his arm from his wife's shoulders. "D'you like that ringing noise, Luna? Apparently it's a Muggle custom. Hermione invented a spell to do it without electricity."

"Very clever," I said, which it was. Before I'd finished speaking, Ginny had blown into the den, Harry following behind her at a more reasonable pace.

"Hello!" she cried, and I leapt to my feet to embrace her. She had been my first real friend at Hogwarts, and my entree into Dumbledore's Army and her circle of friends and family. I would never forget that.

"I brought photos of the children," she said. "Since tonight is adults-only, we dropped them off at Mum's. I'm sure they'd love to see you, Luna, but it's nice not to have to be Mummy for a night."

I doubt the Potter children even remembered me -- they saw me a few times a year at most -- but it was sweet of her to say so.

"Congratulations on the article, Luna," Harry said seriously. "That's quite an accomplishment."

"Cheers, Harry," I said. "Maybe I'll finally be able to leave this island!"

He looked puzzled. "Whyever would you want to?" He was, in that respect, the consummate British wizard: he would go abroad on holiday, perhaps, but his heart was lodged firmly in England -- Godric's Hollow, to be precise, the town in which he lived with his wife and three children.

The bell sounded again -- Neville -- and Hermione got up to meet him. Soon the six of us were chatting away comfortably in the den. When the talk turned to the children, Neville and I drew back a little and had a private conversation.

"Journal of Magizoology -- that's a huge get, Luna. Well done you." Neville, besides being the only other singleton in this little group, was also the only other one of us in academia. He often understood me better than any of the others. Thankfully, after about half a decade of none-too-subtle attempts to hook us up, Hermione had come to understand that we were content just being friends, and I treasured his presence at these gatherings.

"I'd feel better if Rolf bloody Scamander hadn't written in to knock my legs out from under me," I muttered.

He whistled. "Newt's son?"

"Grandson," I corrected. "A real heavyweight."

"Then you ought to feel even more proud of yourself," he offered. "Look, the big names only write in when you've really broken ground, and they almost never have anything nice to say."

"He wasn't just unkind, Nev! He said my evidence was insufficient for publication!"

He stared at me for a moment. "Really got under his skin, did you?"

I spluttered, attempting to rejoin, but Hermione broke in there, having just remembered that Rose had requested an introduction to Herbology, and did Neville have time for it before Hogwarts went back into session?

With the others engaged in conversation, I was left alone for a few moments to my thoughts. I was not the same witch I'd been at Hogwarts. Luna at age eleven would've been absolutely oblivious to criticism -- it hadn't been part of my life with my father, and I'd never really known any peers till I'd gotten to Hogwarts.

By age fourteen or so, I'd figured out when other people were being unkind to me, but I'd let it roll off my back. It wasn't hard -- I truly hadn't cared about their opinions. I didn't identify with the girls in my dormitory in the slightest; it was almost as if we lived on separate planets. They didn't understand me, nor I them.

When I entered the field of magizoology, though, it was as if some wall inside me cracked. I had something in common with these people, namely a deep-seated love of the world around me, and I could finally relate to my peers. I was no longer the oddball girl who floated through the corridors; I was a respected member of an elite community of smart, dedicated professionals.

That was at least part of the reason why Scamander's letter had hit me so hard. I'd become accustomed to a certain amount of professional courtesy, and he'd completely violated that trust.

No, I wasn't the same dreamy girl who'd gone through Hogwarts. Dreamy naturalists generally got injured or killed within a year or two, something I'd learned quickly. I had never really regretted the loss of my teenage persona . . . but I would've given a lot to care as little about Scamander's attack as I had about the girls who'd tripped me in the Great Hall or the boys who put toad guts on my chair in Potions.

For better or worse, I cared what Rolf Scamander thought of me. If I ever met him, I thought, I'd certainly give him a piece of my mind.


	2. Quintessence

_Author's Note: I've spent some time on the geography of this piece -- take a look at a map of Orkney to follow along!_

I stayed late at the Granger-Weasley house, so when the owl came rapping loudly at my window at 7 a.m., I was not pleased.

"Wh--what? Nooooo no no no no." I pushed myself up from my bed, my long blond hair obstructing my view. "What the hell?"

The tapping was much louder and more insistent than that of my own owl's, or the owls of any of my friends. I had no idea who would be owling me at this hour. Fearing that something was wrong with my father, I staggered to the window and threw it open.

I was surprised to see a huge Great Grey Owl with a Ministry breastplate proffering a very official-looking letter in its left claw. I went to scratch its head, but it ducked sideways with surprising speed, as if to say, "Just doing my job, ma'am." So I took the letter and sat back down on the bed to read it as the owl winged its way back outside.

"TO: Luna Lofn Lovegood

"FROM: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division

"Dear Ms. Lovegood:

"Your assistance is requested in the management of a top-secret issue that has arisen within the last twenty-four hours. If you are amenable to working for us on a possibly long-term assignment, please report to the Ministry at 0900. At the visitor's booth (directions attached), give the password 'quintessence.'

"Whether or not you choose to report to the Ministry, please destroy this letter with a simple Incendio charm.

"Yours very truly,

"AURORA CLARENDON

"Department Head"

I was running on about five hours of sleep, so I had to read the letter three times before it sank in. After I burned it, I rubbed my brow in puzzlement. What on earth could the Ministry be mucking about in that would require my help? I had no special expertise with any particular species that fell under the jurisdiction of the Beast Division.

Due to my many run-ins with the British Wizarding government, I didn't wholly trust the Ministry. Now that Hermione was working with the Wizengamot, and Harry was head of the Auror Division (with Ron as his deputy), I wasn't as leery of the Ministry as I'd been as a child. But I had a lingering suspicion of it that wasn't allayed by the complete lack of information in this letter.

On the other hand . . . this was work that would certainly pay well. Not to mention that if I did a good job, I would probably receive some sort of commendation from the government. That would look spectacular on my C.V. Maybe if I could just do this quickly, I could be abroad by Hallowe'en.

Perhaps, I thought, the Beast Division wanted a briefing on my alleged crossbreed. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed; the Beast Division naturally wanted to keep abreast of new developments in the field, and I certainly knew more than I'd written in the article.

So I collected my field notebooks, shrank them down to the size of my palm, and tucked them in my field satchel (which was, appropriately enough, made of dragonhide). I also packed the basic tools of the trade: field glasses, camera, sketching pencils, dragonhide gloves, sample jars, water bottle, and utility belt, all shrunk down.

I made myself a quick breakfast, all the time keyed up with excitement and pride. No matter how I personally felt about the Ministry, it was still an honor to be consulted on an issue in my field.

When I felt prepared, I Apparated to a little sidestreet off Diagon Alley where my favorite sweet shop was, but of course it wasn't open yet. I walked to the dingy little telephone booth that was the visitor's entrance to the Ministry.

I dialed M-A-G-I-C. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," said the Welcome Witch's voice. "Please state your name and business."

"Luna Lovegood," I said. "And -- quintessence."

"Very good, Ms. Lovegood," said the voice in a completely different tone, and I noticed that the badge that materialized merely said, "LUNA LOVEGOOD," without a word about why I was there. The booth made its usual downward descent, but instead of putting me into the Atrium, we went down further to a small room with one chair and diffuse light that did nothing for the horrid beige walls.

I took a seat tentatively, but almost as soon as I had, a tall, broad-shouldered woman of about sixty with dark hair in a pixie cut strode into the room. "Ms. Lovegood, I'm Aurora Clarendon." She extended her hand, and I shook it. "Thank you very much for coming on such short notice."

"Not at all. Please, call me Luna."

She smiled briefly. "Indeed. Likewise, you may call me Aurora. I'm sorry I couldn't be more specific in my letter, but this project is highly sensitive. No one outside my department knows about the situation, save, of course, the Minister. It is vital that we keep this secret."

"Of course."

Aurora gave me a searching look. "You understand you'll have to sign a Secrecy Pact."

Ever since seeing what Hermione had done to Marietta Edgecombe, I had a sort of horror of Secrecy Pacts, but I nodded after only a moment's hesitation.

"Well, then, welcome to the team," she said, shaking my hand again. "I'll take you to our conference room, and when our other recruit shows up -- if he does, I suppose I should say -- we'll brief you two together. In the meantime, have you eaten? We have some pastries."

I waved off the offer of food, so Aurora led me from the little room to a corridor (the door for which did not exist until Aurora waved her wand in a very complicated motion at the wall), from which we reached the main elevators. She took me down to the fourth floor, where I was shooed into a medium-sized room that was completely dominated by a roundtable and a chalkboard. The chalkboard had "PROJECT QUINTESSENCE" written across it in large, neat letters, but nothing else.

I sat and, in the absence of anything else to do, re-enlarged and flipped through my field notebooks. I found my favorite sketch, which was not the merely clinical one that had accompanied my article, but a colorful slice-of-dragon-life moment: a mother and father Hybrid Skye Greens (as I'd called my new crossbreed) shot jets of flame at their little cache of eggs. They took turns blowing the fire, and I watched them for a little while in their enchanted loop. The eggs wiggled a bit each time they were not being warmed, and I imagined a baby hybrid shivering in the cold Skye air. I had been there when those eggs had hatched; remarkably, all four dragonets had survived babyhood, and were probably well on their way to adulthood by now.

I tried to push away the thought that was niggling at the edges of my mind: namely, that if I'd been called here to testify about my dragons, there would be no "other recruit." In fact, the very word "recruit" had a slightly sinister tinge to it, and I began to feel I'd been tricked into something much more serious than I'd expected.

My thoughts were circling this point when the door opened, and one of the handsomest wizards I'd ever seen stepped in. He looked to be about thirty-five, but the boyish dimples in either cheek gave him a winsome appearance. His eyes were a pale blue, and his dark hair seemed windswept, though I knew for a fact today was a windless one. Though it was before 9 a.m., he sported a 5 o'clock shadow.

"YOU!" I cried before I could stop myself.

Rolf Scamander glanced at where I was seated. "Do I know you?"

"You tore apart my article yesterday; I should hope so," I spat.

"Ah, you must be Luna Lovegood," he said, extending his hand. Not wanting to appear difficult, I extended mine as well, and was horrified when he took my hand and kissed it. "The pleasure is mine."

I could almost feel the charm oozing from his every pore, but I wasn't about to succumb; he had humiliated me with his awful letter. "I couldn't agree more," I rejoined.

"Wonderful, you're acquainted," said Aurora, whom I hadn't even noticed. "We haven't a moment to waste."

Scamander took a seat to my right, thankfully leaving one empty seat between us. "What's this all about, then, Aurora?"

The department head didn't sit, but stood instead by the board. "Rolf, Luna, we called you two in because we need your help. Luna, you're one of the most diligent and innovative British magizoologists working today. Rolf, you've braved situations that would make Aurors turn tail. Moreover, if the two of you disappear for a bit, no one will think anything of it. Additionally, we know you're both loyal to your country and will not divulge the secret information we impart to you."

Instinctively, I glanced at Scamander to see his reaction to these statements, but his face was impassive.

"Project Quintessence is of utmost importance to this department and to the Ministry. Let me give you the basics." With that, Aurora swept her wand toward the blackboard, and a map of Scotland appeared there. Hogwarts was marked, as were all the islands. "No doubt both of you are familiar with the existence of the Quintaped, or Hairy MacBoon."

My skin crawled. Surely this couldn't be what I feared it was.

"The Ministry have set up sensor nets about the Isle of Drear to detect any wizard or witch who attempts to find the Quintapeds' island. But yesterday morning, at around 0600 hours, we detected something coming off the island." She waved her wand again, and the map zoomed into the Orkney Islands, where the Isle of Drear lay. "Something Apparated from the coast of Drear to the nearest island, which is Auskerry, due east of Drear. Now, Auskerry is inhabited only by five Muggles who keep sheep, and they were unharmed. About fifteen minutes later, something Apparated onto Drear, so we believe that the subject surveyed Auskerry, found it wanting, and went back home."

"Home," said Scamander, mountains of disbelief packed into that one syllable. "Are you saying --"

"Yes. We believe that the Quintapeds, or at least one Quintaped, has regained the skill of Apparition."

Aurora had sounded as grave as a person could, but Scamander laughed outright. "You don't seriously believe the old legends! The Quintapeds were never some curmudgeonly Orcadians who were Transfigured, Aurora! They're just beasts, like every other beast. They're dangerous -- hell, they're worse than dragons or Acromantulas. But they're not ex-wizards."

"On the contrary, Rolf," Aurora said steadily, "this Department has always been convinced that the 'old legend' is indeed true."

"My grandfather was never convinced," he sniped.

"I think the evidence is quite in the Department's favor," I said, trying not to sound like a third wheel in the discussion.

"Oh, of course she does," Scamander said, gesturing wildly in my direction. "I'm sitting here being lectured by a woman raised on equal parts Quibbler and children's fables."

I was too shocked to respond immediately, but there was no need: Aurora cut in sharply. "Mr. Scamander, the door is that way. We can certainly find someone to replace you."

He looked furious for an instant, but the next moment his tone was velveteen. "I do apologize to you both. Please continue, Aurora."

She eyed him for a moment, but then did just that. "We need the two of you to go on a highly risky reconnaissance mission. I need to know more about the situation, but my staff simply isn't up to the rigors of field living. That's why I've tapped you two. If we stall even a day or two, the dangers are manifold. Auskerry is largely uninhabited, but if the Quintapeds make it to Stronsay, or, Merlin forbid, the Mainland, we will have mass murder on our hands. I don't even want to think about what would happen if they got to Scotland proper."

I thought of Quintapeds overrunning Hogwarts and wanted to crawl out of my skin.

She waved her wand again, and the map zoomed back out. "You can't simply Apparate to Drear for a variety of reasons -- it's Unplottable, for starters, and you'd as likely as not Splinch. I recommend you begin in the Forbidden Forest -- I trust you're both familiar with it? -- and fly north on broomsticks. You can both fly?" We nodded, I anxiously, he sullenly. "Excellent. From the Forest, fly to Tongue, on the northern coast of Scotland. We have an agent there who deals exclusively with the Quintaped problem. He'll brief you on the particulars of the Quintaped population, but he won't be able to join you on the mission itself."

"Aurora, why bother going to the Forest first? Why not just Apparate to Tongue?" Clearly Scamander was just as eager as I to get this whole thing over with.

"Use your head, Rolf," she said, rather harshly, I thought. "Apparition is the most easily traceable magical mode of transportation. If someone learns the two of you have Apparated to the Forest, there are a thousand explanations. Go straight to Tongue, and explanations become much thinner on the ground."

I realized in that instant that I was becoming someone on the inside of one of my father's conspiracy theories, and I almost laughed.

"We'll be issuing you brooms, of course, and supply packs, and even clothes. We don't want anything traceable back to either of you. It is of utmost promise that no one know what the two of you are doing. If anyone were aware of the danger, we would have mass hysteria throughout the country. Half of Wizarding Scotland would end up in France."

"Perhaps it would be safer in the long run that way," I said, a little sardonically.

"We've been through many, many incidents of this nature," Aurora said, attempting to sound reassuring. "If we need to evacuate any areas, we will deal with that when the time comes. But we'd like to not reach that point."

"What on earth would you tell the Muggles?" I demanded.

"That's for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee to decide. But don't worry, Luna -- if you fail, we'll get every human being in the British Isles evacuated to points south of Inverness."

If we failed. We. The weight of responsibility settled onto my shoulders, as certain as the ground beneath my feet.

"We won't fail, Aurora," said Scamander grandly, and I shot him a look laced with venom. He could be as grandiose as he liked, but it wouldn't help us in the slightest.

"Capital," she said, and I could hear that she was also unconvinced. "I need for you both to go home briefly and divest yourself of any personal belongings that are not absolutely and completely necessary to your wellbeing. Please return here in one hour. I'll then provide you with your supplies." She waved her wand, and a hand mirror and an inkwell appeared on the table before her. She floated the former over to Scamander, and the latter to me. "Those are Portkeys; they'll take you home in one minute, and back here again, as long as you use them within the hour. I shall see you both shortly."

I grabbed hold of my inkwell before Scamander could make an excuse to put his foot in his mouth again -- I pushed away the thought that I'd be spending the next week or longer with him -- and was immediately back in my flat. I unpacked all the things I'd taken that morning -- how clever I'd thought myself! -- and thought long and hard about what I could bring.

In my pocket I carried the fake Galleon that Hermione had created for all the D.A. kids so many years ago; I never left it at home. That had to come with me. Around my neck I wore a silver locket that had two Wizarding photos, one each of my mother and father. That, too, was not getting left behind.

Other than that, and of course my wand, I could leave everything else in my flat. I performed a few spells to keep away thieves and nosy neighbors, and to keep everything from getting too dusty. I wrote a quick note to my father asking him to take care of Artemis, my barn owl, while I was off on a quick, surprise assignment to Ireland. I kissed Artemis on the head, told her to take care of Dad and to not try to find me, and sent her off.

After locking all the windows and doors and Vanishing the trash, I took a final look around before taking hold of the Portkey. It glowed blue briefly, and then I was gone.


	3. Bad Start

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! _

"One more time, Luna, do a runthrough for me of your equipment."

I sighed. I wanted to tell Aurora I'd done things much more dangerous and complicated than this, but I didn't like to flaunt my involvement in the Battle for Hogwarts. "All right." I held up my wrist. "This is a Communication Band -- it's like a wireless. You'll check in with us at least once a day. If I need for it to be quiet, I can use a Silencing Charm on it. I must remember to use Finite Incantatem when the danger's passed."

I went through my pack with her, pulling out in turn my tent, my emergency Portkey, and my portable device for picking up the signals of the sensor net around the Isle of Drear, a device Aurora called the W.A.R.D.: Wizarding Ambit Recognition Device. I was already wearing the specially made Department clothing: a cotton long-sleeved shirt and long trousers, all done in camouflage that changed subtly with my surroundings. They'd forced me to pull my long hair up and under a pith helmet. My locket was tucked under my shirt so as not to allow it to glint in the sun. Fortunately, the trousers had a multitude of pockets, one of which I'd slipped my fake Galleon into. My wand was in a special pocket sewn in for exactly that purpose.

Scamander was in another room with a male employee, one of Aurora's most trusted deputees. We had to know our equipment inside and out, including our clothes, and it was determined that same-sex personnel would be best suited to the task.

Aurora tugged on pack strap, adjusting it to my size. "Now, Luna, I know you and Rolf are not the best of friends . . . ."

I narrowed my eyes. "What exactly do you know? I figured . . . well, I thought you mustn't know how I felt about him."

"I read the Journal of Magizoology. It's my area of expertise, after all," she said, and her tone was knowing but not unkind.

"And you did this anyway!" I wanted to rip off the pith helmet and run for the exit.

"It had to be you," she said, gently now. "You're perfectly right about the crossbreed on Skye. I had one of my staffers check it out first thing yesterday. I knew I had to have you on this mission."

I felt as though she'd lit a candle within my breast, but I didn't let on. "And Scamander? What of him?"

"For all his bragging and boasting, he really is that good. You wouldn't want anyone less on your side, would you?"

"I suppose not," I said sullenly, and I felt for a brief moment that I was being spoken to by my long-dead mother. It was the same recognition that she was acting in your best interests, however little you liked it, and that you just had to accept it.

"Capital. I expect regular updates. And don't worry about waking me up in the middle of the night; I raised four children, so I'm perfectly used to midnight summons."

Impulsively, I leaned forward and gave her a swift hug. She seemed a little surprised, but squeezed me briefly. "Try not to murder Rolf, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and marched back to the conference room from the side room. Scamander was standing there looking impatient.

"Shall we go, then?" he demanded.

"Of cou--" Before I could finish my sentence, he had twisted his wand and Disapparated.

"That sneaky -- !" I hissed. I reached for my wand, fumbled, took hold of it firmly, recalled the coordinates, and turned where I stood.

After a moment, I was standing within the too-familiar boundaries of the Forbidden Forest. Scamander was nowhere to be seen. Instead of panicking, I spotted tracks on the ground and followed them; within a few minutes, I'd found my partner, who was busy clearing a site for our tents.

He caught sight of me almost immediately and seemed momentarily discombobulated, but quickly recovered. "Sunset's any minute now," he said, as though he were telling me something I didn't know. "Much too dangerous to fly in the dark. We'll set up camp here and stay the night, get an early start tomorrow."

"Understood." I took a couple steps closer. "In the future, however . . . ." He turned to look at me and found me uncomfortably close. "If you wander off without telling me where you're going, or just start doing something without consulting me first, I will hex you into next week. Is that understood?"

Shock and contempt fought for supremacy in his expression, then he switched gears entirely. "I see the problem," he purred.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes?"

"You're attracted to me, and you're trying to hide it. Well, that's fine, I understand. If we sleep together tonight, I think we'll both be able to concentrate better."

I stood up ramrod-straight and pointed one finger in his smirking face. "You -- pompous -- ARSE. I have NO desire WHATSOEVER to be your floozy of the week, or even of the year. You just keep it in your trousers where it belongs, and we'll both be able to concentrate just fine."

He threw up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whatever you like. I was just thinking out loud."

"You weren't 'just' anything," I fumed, but I relaxed my stance and lowered my hand.

"Are you going to help me set up the campsite, or let me do everything?"

I bit back my next retort. "I'll collect firewood," I volunteered, and tromped off into the forest.

After half an hour savagely slashing my wand through the air in the general direction of dead tree limbs, I had calmed down a bit. Scamander was a git who was used to getting his own way, but I wasn't about to be trampled on. On the other hand, our mission would be endangered if I allowed my emotions to get the better of me every time he mouthed off. I resolved to let as much of it wash over me as possible, at least for the length of time it took us to scope out the Isle of Drear. After that, he was fair game.

I levitated the firewood behind me back to the campsite, where Scamander had set up both our tents and cleared a space for our fire. He wasn't there, but I figured he was off cleaning himself up a bit. Immediately I set to work building a pyre. I would, of course, start the fire magically, but without wood to burn, it would just die off as soon as I fell asleep, and it would do nothing to protect us from the Forest's inhabitants then.

It was fully dark now, and I drew my Ministry-approved camouflage cloak out of my pack. Fastening it around my neck, I began to worry about Scamander. The fire was burning merrily, but I was the only one illuminated by its glow. Could he have been snatched by one of the more fearsome denizens of these woods? That was nonsense, wasn't it? He was, after all, the "finest magizoologist in the field today."

Just as I was about to call Aurora for help, I heard a rustling in the underbrush, and then Scamander strolled into the glade, as cocksure and pleased with himself as a 14-year-old wizard who's just managed to spy on the Holyhead Harpies locker room.

"Where have you been?" I asked in a low, dangerous voice, my resolution to let his missteps wash over me instantly forgotten.

He didn't catch the tone. "Been worried, have you? No call for that."

"Mr. Scamander, while I appreciate that you are accustomed to your independence, I don't want to have to tell you again: you mustn't just wander off wihtout letting me know where you've gone!" I was still huddled by the fire, but I wanted to leap at him and slap the smug smile off his face.

"Please, Luna, call me Rolf. And look!" He rummaged through his pack and drew out a dead hare. "Dinner for us."

I cocked an eyebrow. Did he think I would be impressed by the death of a tiny herbivore?

"Not a hunter, are you?" he said.

"Rolf. I appreciate that you've managed to find us food, though I would've been perfectly content with the rations that we've been provided by the Ministry. However, I think you're skirting my original point."

"Which was?"

I gritted my teeth. "You. Can't. Wander. Off."

He realized I wasn't to be put off, and he dug his heels in for the first time. "I need to be free to do what I think is best for us."

"What's best for us is that we each know where the other is at all times!"

"If you stay by our campsites, I won't have any trouble finding you."

I laughed outright at this. "Okay, so I'm supposed to sit in the tent while you go off and hunt or do reconnaissance or do Merlin knows what?"

"Yes, that sounds about right."

"Get one thing straight, Rolf," I said, and I did stand up at that point. He was a bit taller than I, but not by much. "I am a serious magizoologist. I am also determined to do whatever I can to save the lives of innocent people from the Hairy MacBoons. I am certainly not here to be your helpmeet. I am your equal. Got it?"

"My equal? You haven't had the field experience I have! I've read your papers; you've never been outside Europe."

"You've read my papers?"

He heard the complete shift in the tone of my voice and changed tack quickly. "Luna, we both know that I'm stronger, more experienced, and the better magizoologist."

"No, I don't know that. Because it isn't true. But I can see that this is going nowhere." Quick as lightning, I whipped out my wand and held it two inches from his nose. "This is much easier. Promise me this instant that you won't go anywhere without telling me first, or I will put a tracking spell on you that you will NEVER be able to shake."

For the first time, I saw a flicker of anxiety in his eyes. "I'd like to see you try."

"Don't tempt me, wanker. I was a Ravenclaw, and if there's one thing a Ravenclaw knows, it's charming on our feet. Promise me."

"I --"

Purple sparks erupted from my wandtip in my fury. "PROMISE."

He eyed my wand for a moment. "I promise."

"Not good enough. Swear on -- swear on your grandfather's name."

He looked furious, but he was still staring at my wand. "I swear on the name of my grandfather, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, that I will not leave your side without letting you know where I'm going."

I let down my guard. "Brilliant. Enjoy your dinner. I'm turning in."

"At this hour??"

"I had a late night last night," I said witheringly. Had it really only been the night before that I'd sat up talking and laughing with the other old members of the D.A.? Why couldn't I be stuck out in the woods with one of them?

His face changed at that, but I didn't wait for his response; I turned on my heel and marched to my tent, which was tiny, just big enough for me to lie down to sleep. I changed into my white, Ministry-issue nightshirt, which reached down to my knees and had a couple pockets. In one pocket I placed my fake Galleon; in the other, I secured my wand. I'd never been without either since the Second War.

I performed a Cushioning Charm on the packed dirt below, but it didn't much help matters. I was sleepy enough, though, that it didn't matter too much; I lay down and was asleep within ten breaths.

After Merlin knew how many hours, a sound awoke me, but I was too confused to know what was happening. It took me a moment to realize it was Scamander clearing his throat at the entrance to my tent.

"Wha?" I was not a morning person, nor had I ever been. Father always said I shone when my namesake did. He was right; I'd always been a night owl.

That was all the invitation he needed; he stuck his head in and looked down at me. I was sure I looked a fright; I was also sure I didn't care. "Luna, I'm off to go scrounge us some breakfast."

"Mmmmm?"

"Just wanted to let you know!" Then he was gone.

Blearily I put my head back down to the ground and tried to sleep, but a shaft of sunlight had made its way into my tent. Something niggled at the back of my brain.

"Close the tent," I muttered, but Scamander had obviously left the campsite.

Sunlight . . . why sunlight? Was it day already? And why did I have a sinking feeling about the day?

A moment later, I shot up in bed. "NO!" I shrieked, hoping Scamander would hear. "Don't go!!"

There was no response, so I stumbled out of my tent, clothed only in my nightshirt. There was no time to put on clothes: I had to find him right away.


	4. Kinship

_Author's Note: Yes, it's been awhile. This isn't new, per se; I wrote this chapter a long time ago and never posted it. I don't know how far I'll get in this story, but I hope to finish it this time around . . . ._

I was not a magizoologist for nothing. Scamander's track was easy to trace; he'd only been gone a few minutes, and human feet are very distinct. He was being quiet so as to attract prey; I was being quiet so as not to attract unwanted attention. I had to catch up to him, that was the only thought going through my mind -- but he was quick, and I was tired.

I began to catch glimpses of him ahead, and I tried to signal to him, but I could think of no way to do so without drawing the attention I hoped so desperately to avoid.

A minute later, precisely what I'd feared would happen did -- I heard the sound of hooves close by. Scamander dropped into a crouch and drew his wand. "Hello?" he called loudly.

I smacked my forehead. This could not possibly end well. But I had to save him; I needed him for this mission. I made my way toward him as quietly as I could.

Seconds later, a herd of centaurs surrounded him, their bows drawn taut, arrows all aimed straight at his heart. Scamander stood up, his wand still drawn.

"Foolish human," the leader growled. I didn't recognize him specifically; it had been too long since I'd last spoken with centaurs. "Do you not know that sunrise is the sacred time of the centaur hunt?"

"No, I did not," my partner said. Silver sparks danced at the tip of his wand. I knew the centaurs would only be further offended by the obviousness of his wand-wielding.

"The penalty for your ignorance will be severe indeed," intoned another centaur.

"Oh yeah?" Scamander shot back. "And what will that be?"

"Death," said the same centaur, almost sadly.

"Like hell!" cried the lone human: he slashed his wand diagonally, and I saw a mirror-image line of red blood bloom on the nearest centaur's chest. The wounded being reared up, lashing out his front legs, and the leader loosed his bow. I watched in horror as his arrow found its home in Scamander's shoulder.

Without another thought, I ran like a madwoman into the thick of things. "PEACE!" I screamed. "I am the envoy of peace here!"

After a moment's shocked silence, the centaurs took aim at my heart. "You are just as guilty of trespassing as he, human," the leader spat.

"No," I said, my voice shaking. "I am not just another human. I am Luna Lovegood, friend of the centaurs. I fought alongside your people at the Battle for Hogwarts. I have not forgotten. Have you forgotten?"

The leader's bow lowered just the tiniest bit. No centaur ever admits that anything has been forgotten. "You claim the right of kinship by battle?"

I stuck my chin up as far as I could. "I do."

"Who can verify this extraordinary claim?"

I ticked off the names of centaurs I knew on my fingers. "Firenze, Bane, Ronan, Magorian, Padriac, Conan --"

One centaur stepped forward. "Padriac? I am Padriac's son."

I knelt in front of him, casting a surreptitious look at Rolf, who seemed to still be breathing. "We are kin, you and I," I said quietly. "Your father fought bravely in the last battle against the greatest evil of our spans on this earth."

"He told me of this battle, and of the many humans who took the field alongside him. He never forgot the name of a comrade, not while he lived. He died only a few moons ago," said Padriac's son. "I am called Galway."

"You honor your father through the hunt, Galway. You truly have the look of him. I apologize sincerely for our intrusion. It was never my intention to foul your sunrise hunt. If you allow me to take the man with me, I will retreat immediately."

But the leader stepped between me and Galway. "Kin you are, though I cannot believe that such a slight, puny thing as you could have taken up arms. You shall go in peace. But this one," he said, gesturing savagely at Scamander's prone form, "this one is stranger. He will die."

"I beg you," I said, clasping my hands together over my head. My knees were beginning to ache, but I didn't consider standing, not for a moment. "Spare his life."

"He is not kin!" roared the leader. "Our laws dictate that he must die!"

I heard the faint rustle of centaur feet; they were uneasy with the mandate in this situation. I seized upon their discomfort: "I throw myself at your feet, my brothers and cousins. Spare this man's life. Grant me this one boon."

"A boon? What right have you to ask for a boon?" demanded the leader.

I had one last chance. I drew my fake Galleon from my pocket. "I was not simply a soldier in the war against the evil one, cousin. This is the token of the commanding officers of my human army. I was a leader in the battle. I comported myself with honor; ask Galway, ask the storyteller of your herd, they will tell you that Luna Lovegood was a confidant of Captain Potter. Luna Lovegood was the first one into battle and the last one out. I have the right to ask a boon of you."

There was a low rumbling amongst the centaurs, and a stamping of feet. After a few excruciating moments, I heard the voice of a centaur who had not yet spoken: "Rise, Luna Lovegood."

I rose shakily to my feet. The centaur who had spoken was much grayer than the rest. I knew that centaurs' lifespans were much shorter than humans', so he was probably only about thirty years old, if that. Once a centaur hit thirty, he no longer went out on hunts. This elderly centaur looked me in the eye for a minute, then spoke. "I am called Sabre. My older brother, who was called Bane, was the leader of the centaurs at the time of the battle of which you speak. I remember him speaking about the human leaders. He said, 'They're all colts, the humans who took charge that day. Harry Potter was the commander, and his two seconds-in-command, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, fought like the bravest of centaurs. He had three lieutenants who had held the ground at Hogwarts while he fought evil elsewhere, and their names were Neville Longbottom, Ginevra Weasley, and Luna Lovegood. They commanded a small army of colts -- their names are all known to me, and I shall never forget a single one of them. Never forget it was these immature humans who were the vanguard on that fateful day.'"

I felt tears pricking my eyes. I'd never forgotten the names of my comrades either. I still called up the names of the dead from time to time.

The old centaur bowed his head. "You do have the right to ask a boon of us, Luna Lovegood. But our laws are immutable. We could bear you to safety, as far as you wished to go, but you would leave this man to his death. We could adopt you into our herd to live with us for as long as you wished, but your first night with us would be a celebration of this man's death. I could teach you to read the stars as we do, but this man will never again look at the stars."

I couldn't help it; I began to cry. Sabre looked concerned. "What is this man to you, anyway?"

In the half a second between his question and my answer, I'd formulated a plan. Every inch of my mind fought against it, but in my heart, I knew I'd do whatever I could to save Scamander's life. "He is my fiance."

The old centaur shook his head, not understanding my reply. "Do not use your human terms."

"We are promised to each other," I elaborated. "We are to be mates."

Sabre fixed me with an unreadable look. "You would take this man as your mate?"

I knew the source of his disbelief; no husband of mine would ever go traipsing into centaur territory in the early hours of the morning. I would have a husband who respected the other beings in this world. But I answered, "Yes, sir."

Sabre lifted his head and addressed the leader. "Donegal, I think we know what must be done."

Donegal pawed the ground impatiently. "It isn't right. He trespassed!"

"What would be wrong would be the death of this human, when Lieutenant Lovegood is our kin and his almost-mate."

"'Almost-mate,'" sneered Donegal. "That's nonsense, that's human talk!"

"Yes," said Sabre softly. "Which is why we must wed them."

My heart leapt into my throat, and I almost cried out. Donegal spoke: "We, marry two humans? It's unthinkable!"

"Better this than violating our laws, Donegal. If they are wed, he is kin, and nothing untoward has occurred."

"We cannot marry humans in a centaur ceremony! It is an affront to our rituals!"

"It is not," said Sabre, this time much more severely. "It is magic, a cousin of the magic this witch wields. Gone are the days when we considered humans barbarians, Donegal. These are changing times."

"How do you propose we convey them to our village, Sabre? I will not carry them, though we are now kin." Donegal's last words dripped with cynicism.

"I believe I can manage that," I said, as respectfully as I could. "If I may?"

Sabre nodded his assent, and I Summoned my broom. When it flew into my hand, I allowed myself to really look at Rolf for the first time.

His entire shirt was soaked with his blood, and his complexion was gray. I was glad to see he was still breathing, but his eyelids fluttered restlessly in his shock-induced unconsciousness. I knew I had to get the arrow out, so I did the only thing I could think of: I Summoned it, and it flew backwards out of its place in Rolf's shoulder with a squelching noise. More blood flowed forth at that, but it was dark and sluggish. I didn't think that was a good sign.

I would not have woken him then for anything, but thankfully I didn't have to: I drew him to a sitting position, enchanted him to keep him rigid, and levitated him onto my broom, which was hovering at waist height. I mounted the brook behind him, locked my arms around his ribcage, and held on for dear life.

Riding a broom with an unconscious, blood-soaked man at the helm is just as difficult and unpleasant as it sounds. The centaurs galloped through the woods at near-top speed, navigating with ease. It was all I could do to follow in their wake.

The Forest was bigger than I'd given it credit for; by the time we reached the centaurs' village, I was exhausted and sticky with Scamander's blood. I saw centaurs gathered to welcome the hunters home, and as we drew nearer, I saw the looks of shock and fear at our presence. Sabre galloped ahead to spread the word, while Galway paced himself alongside me.

"I'll guide you to the surgeon's hut," he said. "Don't worry; she'll make your almost-mate good as new."

My stomach lurched at the word "mate," but I smiled my thanks. The surgeon's hut was set off a little from the rest, and we had to wheel past the entire population of the village to get there. I felt nauseous and panicky. Rolf could, for all I knew, be dead. And what about our mission? However could we complete it now?

At the entrance to the surgeon's, I stopped dead and promptly fell sideways off my broom. I was pinned by Rolf's dead weight and stuck to him with his dried blood. I needed to unfreeze him from his sitting position, but when I tried to do it without my wand, I failed. I wanted to cry aloud.

"There, there," came a voice from above. I looked up and saw a beautiful, elderly centaur woman. "Let me help you." She snapped her fingers, and Rolf instantly relaxed, slumping forward in my lap. "Can you bring your friend inside?" she asked kindly.

I nodded, and through a series of tricky charms, supported his head, levitated him indoors, and set him on a wooden dais in the middle of the room that was clearly intended for exactly this purpose. My strength gave out at this point, and I collapsed against the platform myself, my head buried in my arms.

"Now, now. We've got a ways to go. Undress him, please." The female centaur had followed me in and was now rinsing her hands in a stone basin.

I had to act as though this was perfectly natural, though I barely knew the man. The blood made his clothes stick to him, so I Conjured some warm water to loosen them. I eased the shirt off over his head, noting as I did the neat, quill-sized hole right above his left scapula. I tugged on the Ministry-issue trousers, feeling myself go hot all over at the intimacy of it all. His boxers were, unexpectedly, printed all over with fire-breathing dragons, and I stifled a giggle. Since there was no blood on his pants, I left them on.

"That last garment, too," said the centaur, who was poised over my shoulder.

I issued a silent prayer to Merlin as I removed the dragon-printed pants. His was not the first naked male body I'd seen -- far from it. And in his medically tenuous state, I could hardly associate this scenario too closely with the one he had proposed the previous evening. Yet I would have given just about anything to not have been in this situation.

"I am called Gallia," said the centaur, and I turned to face her.

"I'm Luna," I said, my voice shaking.

She cast a sympathetic gaze at me. "You've done enough for now, child. You may lie down if you wish."

Centaurs didn't really have a concept of sitting, but that's what I felt like doing, so I wedged myself against the wall of her hut. "Will he be all right?" I asked, unwilling to hear the answer.

"Do you know the story of how your people learned the surgeons' magic?"

As it just so happened, I did. "The centaur Chiron taught the wizard Asclepius, who spread the art through the human world."

She looked back at me sharply. "Surely you did not learn that from your unfortunate friend here."

"No. The centaur Firenze tutored me in the ways of your people." It had been during seventh year, when school had been truly boring for the first time, what with most of the D.A. gone. Firenze didn't socialize with the other professors, and he never went into the Forest, so I'd figured he might have a moment to nurture my budding interest in magizoology.

"I remember Firenze. He went to our home among the stars years ago, but I remember him." I bowed my head in sorrow. "It is through him that this joyous event this evening will be possible, Luna. We as a people have just begun to face our fear of humans, and it is his doing."

"I know," I whispered. I recalled the day that McGonagall had sent word that Firenze had gone back to the Forest to try to persuade his people that it was long past time for a truce. I had prayed for his success, but had never been able to speak with him again after that day; no reliable means of communication existed between the centaur and human worlds.

My Communication Band crackled to life at that moment, and I took a moment to ruefully revise my last thought before I heard Aurora's voice. "Luna?"

Gallia had turned back to tend to Rolf, but she had heard it as well. "Excuse me," I said hurriedly, and I sprinted outside to the side of the hut that faced the Forest.

"Hello, Aurora," I said into the Band.

"Thank heavens!" Relief was heavy in her voice. "I've been trying to reach Rolf for the past ten minutes. Is he all right?"

"He -- er -- had a little hunting accident."

"Is he injured badly?"

"Not -- not badly. He's getting himself fixed up right now."

Aurora sighed. "Why he felt the need to hunt when we provided him with all the food he'll need -- ! Will you two be able to make the rendezvous with our contact in Tongue?"

I thought fast. "Not tonight, Aurora. I'm not comfortable enough with the situation here." That couldn't have been more true. "We'll make it first thing tomorrow."

"Do you need reinforcements?"

That was the last thing I needed at this moment. "Oh, no, we're all right. I just want him in tip-top shape before we go anywhere."

"Capital. I'll let our man in Tongue know. Don't tarry tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?"

I wanted to say "a wedding dress," but I wasn't that foolish. "No, ma'am."

"Well then, carry on. Give Rolf my regards." The Band crackled again, and then there was silence.

Back inside, Gallia continued as though I hadn't left. "You were friends with Firenze."

I had, in fact, had quite a crush on Firenze, one that I had known even at the time would always remain one-sided. "Yes, ma'am. He was my teacher."

"Like Chiron and Asclepius," Gallia said neutrally.

"He taught me much of what I know about the creatures of this Forest," I offered.

"Firenze always believed humans to be capable of learning and retaining the knowledge of which you speak. I suppose, in your case at least, he was correct."

I was silent for a moment, watching Gallia move her hands over Scamander. I thought his pallor seemed a little better, but it could have just been the lighting. It was strange, but I didn't wish that we were at St. Mungo's or under the care of Madam Pomfrey. If I couldn't trust a representative of the race that had invented the Healing profession, whom could I trust?

After a few minutes, Gallia spoke again: "I've stanched the wound. I've asked the blood to knit itself together where the puncture occurred. We need for him to drink a draft that will tell his blood to multiply itself. For that he needs to be conscious. I do not want to wake him into unfamiliarity. Can you stand by him?"

Wearily, I pulled myself from the floor and went to stand by the dais. I hoped as hard as I could that Scamander wouldn't give us away immediately.

"I've found it's helpful if a friend takes hold of the patient's hands," Gallia said patiently. I grabbed his hands in mine, just wanting it all to be over with.

Gallia waited a moment, then, without warning, reared up on her hind legs, and then brought her front legs down with a sound like I'd never before heard. It was a sound to wake the dead, and that's more or less what it did: Scamander opened his eyes and sat up with a gasp.

"Where --"

I cut him off before he could say another word. "Rolf, it's Luna." He looked at me wildly. "You were shot by a centaur, and now you're being healed by another centaur."

"You --"

"Hush," I said quellingly. "They're being kind enough to let us stay the night."

"But --"

"Gallia, do I ask too much to request a few minutes alone with him?" I said, a little louder than strictly necessary. Gallia inclined her head serenely and walked out, leaving us alone in the hut.

I dropped his hands as soon as she was out of sight. "It's a very long story, and I don't have time for it all now, but we're getting married tonight." He stared at me in mute horror. "I don't like it either, but it's this, or you die."

He frowned. "I thought you hated me."

"I do," I said, though it wasn't strictly true. It was hard to hate a man so badly wounded, so exposed. He realized the latter at that instant.

"I'm naked!"

"Gallia -- the centaur woman who healed you -- she had me strip you."

"This is too much." He lay back down and squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's not. You have to deal with it, and now. Our story is that we're engaged, all right? They won't ask or care about anything else. Just play along, do what they tell you to, don't start any fights. We'll be fine."

I nipped out of the hut then, leaving him to recover on his own. I couldn't face any more of his questions. Gallia was standing a few yards outside the entrance to her hut, letting the midday breeze whip her hair.

"Thank you, ma'am." She turned to me slowly. "Is there somewhere I can rest? I'm terribly tired, and I want to be rested for -- tonight."

She smiled for the first time. "Indeed. Do you require a roof over your head to sleep?"

I thought about this for a moment. "No, actually."

"My favorite spot to sleep in fair weather is that hump of moss there," she said, pointing. "Do you see?"

"Yes. Thank you, ma'am." I immediately walked over to the hillock. It was shaded by a few trees in full leaf. I curled up, trying to ignore the crusty blood on my nightdress, and pillowed my head on my arms. I thought I heard galloping hooves, but the rhythm only helped me drift into sleep.


End file.
